“Oh, mamma!” sobbed Alma, drawing near, and sinking at her mother’s feet.
But Mrs. Elverton, with a shudder of repulsion, rolled her chair back, and said:
“Alma, resume your seat. Keep as far from me as you can, keep so as to remain in ear-shot only, while I speak to you.”
Tremblingly Alma arose and receded to her chair, where she sat with pallid cheeks, clasped hands, and wistful eyes still fixed upon the stern, white face of that strange mother.
“Alma,” said the lady, coldly, “I do not mean to deal in mysteries. I learned this morning from the old gardener, Denny—who begged an interview with me for the purpose of making a communication which he deemed it his duty to make—that you had an interview with Captain Montrose in the woods behind the house last evening. At least he met you loitering there, and a few minutes later met Captain Montrose going towards you. He inferred that there was an interview and an appointment. Alma, was the old man right?”
“Mamma,” said Alma, seeking to hide her fiery blushes with both hands. “Yes, he told you the truth; but oh, mamma, hear my defence—”
“Not now—not until I have done speaking. I dismissed the old man, with thanks for his fidelity, and with an injunction to silence, which I am sure that he will observe for your sake; for be assured, Alma, that such interviews seriously compromise the fair fame of a young girl.”
“Mamma! Oh! let me explain—” again interrupted Alma, who seemed unable to bear for an instant the implied reproach in her mother’s words.
“Not yet; not yet, Alma; hear me out. After thinking over the old man’s story, I came to the conclusion that the interview of yesterday might have been accidental—”
“It was, indeed, partly so, mamma.”